


Murder At Dead Man's Inn

by ClassyNerd



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Imperials, Khajiit - Freeform, Murder, Skyrim - Freeform, Stormcloaks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-14
Updated: 2015-07-14
Packaged: 2018-04-09 05:57:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4336487
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ClassyNerd/pseuds/ClassyNerd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"If anyone of you is the murderer," he begun to walk in a slow circle, glaring at each of our faces, "you will know no peace. Justice will be fulfilled, no matter how much you try to escape it." We all glanced at one another, trying to be discreet yet failing. The same question arose in everyone's mind:</p>
<p>Who was the murderer?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Murder At Dead Man's Inn

Raindrops fell from the sky, creating a steady staccato beat as the merchants cart I sat upon rumbled across the dirt roads. A bolt of lightning flashed and thunder cracked in the heavens above. Light faintly glowed from a guard's torch as I approached the village of Falkreath. As I rolled to a stop beneath the wooden archway that had the words "Falkreath" carved into it; the guard walked up to me, uplifting his torch to see my face better. As the flame's flickered, outlining my feline features, the guard asked the usual question.  
  
"It's late for someone to be traveling out here. Got somewhere your heading, Khajiit?" The timbre his voice was deep, and I could make out his hand resting upon his sword's handle beneath his blue cloak.  
  
"I'm Ji'la Ubasma, a merchant traveling to Whiterun. Is there an inn where I could stay?" I asked, holding the slippery reins between my hands. Tsarsma, the black and white colored gypsy pulling my cart, neighed and tossed her head, unhappy with the rain and lateness of the hour. "And a stable for my horse? We have been traveling many hours through this weather." And by the state of my soaked clothing, I'm certain the guard was able to discern this for himself.  
  
"Go down the street a ways, and on the left you'll find an inn, called Dead Man's Drink. Beside it they have a stables for your steed. Safe travels, Ji'la Ubasma."  
  
"My thanks," I said with a dip of my head and flicked the reins, encouraging Tsarsma to plod the last few minutes of our journey while the guard stood aside, his torch quickly disappearing in the inky blackness of night and storm. Lightning flashed, lighting the sign on the inn as it creaked with the wind, the words "Dead Man's Drink" standing out in the darkness. "Whoa," I commanded to Tsarsma as I pulled back on the reins. She slowed to stop, and I jumped off the cart seat and onto the stone roadway. I walked around the small wooden cart to Tsarsma's side. "Looks like we have a place to stay after all," I said as I petted her on the nose. She nickered softly as I clicked my tongue, taking her harness and leading her into the dimly lit stables that stood beside the inn. Setting my cart aside as to be out of any other travelers way, I insured the back doors of it were locked and secure. You never know what kind of folk will pass by on that sort of evening. Thunder crashed right above us, causing Tsarsma to neigh nervously, her pupils dilating with fear. "Shh," I whispered soothingly as I patted her neck, unclasping her harnesses. I led her to an empty stall, a few other horses occupying the others. Locking her inside, I took some grain from my pocket and gave it to her. She ate it, nuzzling my hand appreciatively before I grabbed some dry hay from a corner and tossed it over the wooden door to her. "Pleasant dreams Tsarsma." I walked back out into the storm that raged above the small village of Falkreath, and skipped up the few steps to Dead Man's Drink. Entering the door I quickly closed it behind me, shutting out the chilling wind and rain. It was quiet and peaceful inside, a bard that was an Orc playing his lute near the fire place. I took off the hood of my brown cloak.   
  
"Need some food and drink to warm your bones, stranger?" A woman, the innkeeper leaning against the counter on the far side of the room, asked.  
  
"That would be nice," I replied as I walked over. A few other people were in there as well, drinking their mead quietly. One, a man, stood up and left through the door I just entered.  
  
"What would you like dear?" The innkeeper asked. She wore a plain makeshift dress, a red apron tied around her waist that lightened her brown eyes and dark skin.  
  
"Anything that you have warm."  
  
"We have onion soup that was made just an hour ago."  
  
"That will do."  
  
She left the room for a moment, coming back a few minutes later with a wooden bowl that was warm to the touch. "I warmed it up for you, should be nice and hot. That will be one silver."  
  
I nodded as I pulled out a silver piece from a small leather pouch hanging off my belt. "My thanks," I said as I laid it on the counter.   
  
"You staying the night here or passing through? It's quite a storm that's going on right now." She looked at me curiously. "We don't get many travelers, especially Khajiits, no offense."  
  
"None taken. How much does room and board cost?"  
  
"Ten septims per day."  
  
"And for my horse?"  
  
"That will be five more septims."  
  
I pulled out the amount from my pouch. "I'll be leaving in the morning."  
  
"In a hurry?"  
  
I nodded. "I have to arrive in Whiterun day after tomorrow. Life of a merchant."  
  
Understanding dawned on her face at my words. "Ah I see. My father was a merchant, spent most of my childhood on the road. Well, enjoy your meal. Don't mind the orc, he pays to stay here and we don't get many guests, so if he bothers you just say so and I'll talk to him."  
  
I nodded as I took the small bowl and spoon to a nearby table that had a view of the door. Quietly I sipped it, and it was still burning on my tongue.  
  
"Your not from around here," a young woman, probably in her early twenties, spoke as she walked up to my table and sat down. A tavern wench, judging by the state of her clothes that were blue with a white apron tied around her waist.  
  
"No. I'm Ji'la Ubasma, a merchant from Elsweyr."   
  
"Oh, that sounds splendid! I'm Narri. Have many adventures?" She asked eagerly, leaning forward across the table. Her blond hair was braided, descending down her shoulder in one long strand.  
  
I smiled wryly, some encounters coming to mind. "A few. Not that exciting though, just a few bandits trying to steal my merchandise. Fortunately I was not alone, and we were able to subdue the thieves."  
  
Her blue eyes widened at my words. "Was he handsome? A prince?"  
  
I fiddled with the silver ring on my left hand absentmindedly. "Did I say whoever helped me was a man?"  
  
A light blush crept into her cheeks. "I know women can fight too. I just think it would be so romantic if a handsome prince saved you."  
  
I laughed; a low, scratchy sound. "It's alright. He was a man, but not a prince. Nor handsome, really. In fact I've forgotten his name." I paused for a moment, my cold eyes locking with hers. "Life isn't a fairy tale, a fact that you best learn sooner then later, child."  
  
She nodded, her eyes reflecting her disappointment. "I know."   
  
At that moment, a man entered through the door, wearing fine robes and strutting as if he owned the place. "Who's that?" I asked curiously.  
  
"Who, him?" She looked over her shoulder at the old man. "Oh, that's just Dengier of Stuhn. He used to be Jarl of this place, but he retired not too long ago and now his nephew, Siddgeir, is Jarl."  
  
"The usual?" The Innkeeper asked the man as he hobbled towards her in his worn, faded royal robes.  
  
"Yes, that would be just fine Valga." He grumbled in a gravelly voice. He then looked my way, tilting his head curiously at the new Khajiit.   
  
"I better get back to work!" Narri said, practically jumping out of her seat and into the back room where the kitchen was. The former Jarl walked slowly to my table.  
  
"Mind if I join you, stranger?"  
  
"Of course," I said, motioning my hand towards the bench hospitably.   
  
"I suppose you just arrived here. Did you know I used to Jarl here? Yep," he continued, though I remained silent as I sipped my cooling soup. "But they made me retire, saying I was too old. I really think it was because I chose to support Ulfric Stormcloak. Don't look so shocked," he added, though my face remained unfazed, "I know most people are loyal to the Imperials. But damn the empire! I don't care what they say, Skyrim belongs to the Nords and we're going to take back what's ours!" He pounded the table with his fist, as if to emphasize his point. I then knew why Narri had escaped so quickly. He continued on, ranting and raving while I finished my soup and the bard played the tune 'Tale of the Tongues' in the background. A gust of wind breezed through the tavern's hall when a man, dressed in the garb of an officers uniform, entered the room with a few guards behind him. A man of importance, apparently.  
  
"Who is that?" I asked, while there was a moment of silence from the man across from me. He leaned back in his chair to look at him, frowning when he recognized him.  
  
"That's General Septimus, one of the Imperials most valued officers. He's on his way to conquer a Stormcloak uprising in a village not far from here. His soldiers must have remained outside." He grumbled, really displeased with the thought of an Imperial sharing his tavern. I nodded while I watched them curiously. Then Innkeeper called out, interrupting my study.  
  
"What can I do for you sir?"  
  
He walked over to her slowly, taking the hood off his head, revealing an older man's face that was mapped with worn creases and a grey scruff on his jaw. "Food for me and my men in here, the one's at camp a few miles out have their own rations to eat."  
  
"Narri," the Innkeeper called, and the girl I had been talking to earlier ran out from the kitchen. "Bring these men some hot soup and mead to warm their bellies." She nodded quickly and raced back into the kitchen. "Need a place to stay, General?"  
  
"No. I will be returning to camp. My place is with my men."  
  
"Of course." She nodded, a small smile on her face. Evidently she was not opposed to the Imperials as the others were.  
  
At that moment I scooted out of my chair and walked over to the Innkeeper, leaving a disgruntled Dengier behind, past the General and his guards. "Which room shall I make use of?"  
  
"I'll show you to your room," she said coming around the counter.  
  
I turned to follow her. "Excuse me," I murmured, when I bumped into the General's arm.  
  
He looked down at me, a frown creasing his mouth. "Next time be more careful, Khajiit."  
  
I followed the Innkeeper to a small room that had a single bed and dresser within it. "My thanks," I said as she left.  
  
"No problem. Enjoy your stay." She shut the door to my room, leaving me alone with the flickering candle on the bed stand. I quickly changed into warmer clothing that I had brought in my pack that hung over my shoulder. Climbing into the green covers of the bed, I blew out the flames, easily falling into a dreamless sleep.  
  
After a time, I do not know how long, there was a great crash from the hall, and a woman's scream. I jumped out of my bed, grabbing a knife from my belt on the way. When I pushed through my door, this is the scene that greeted me:  
  
General Septimus was slumped on the floor, no evident wound on his body. Everyone was crowding around him, trying to see what had happened. "Give him room!" One of the guards ordered, pushing the curious bystanders away from the man.   
  
"What happened?" I asked the orc, who's name I found out later was Boloag Barglor.  
  
"He just fell over a minute ago," he said in a gruff voice; the natural baritone of an orc. I tried to peer over the guard's shoulder to see the General. One of the guard's was kneeling next to him, checking his pulse on his wrist and then his throat. His face turned grey and solemn as he pronounced the fateful words: "He's dead."  
  
The Innkeeper gasped and I stared in horror. "Who could've done this?" Narri whispered hoarsely. Dengier was crossing his arms, looking grim but smugly pleased.  
  
"There's a murderer within our midst?" Boloag asked, looking around at everyone suspiciously.  
  
"There must be," I whispered. "Men don't just die like that."  
  
"No one must leave this building." One of the guards commanded, placing his hand upon his swords handle. "My lady," he begun, turning towards the Innkeeper, "is there a bed where we may lay him?"  
  
"Yes, follow me," her face was ashen as she motioned for him to follow her. "Here, I'll help," Boloag said as he grabbed the feet of the General. The guard that spoke before grabbed beneath the General's arms, and on the count of three they hoisted him up in the air, following the Innkeeper into a small side room. The other Imperial guard stayed in the room, staring at us menacingly. Narri begun to cry, tears streaking down her pale face. "It's all right," I comforted as I hugged her around the shoulders. Her sobs continued to shake her body as I stared wide eyed at the guard. "What happens now?"  
  
He looked me in the eye, his dark eyes hard and cold. "We will tell the others at camp, surround the town and make sure no one leaves until we find his killer." I nodded mutely as the others came from the room. "Leoninnius," the guard I'd been talking to addressed his fellow guardsman, "grab the healer from the apothecary shop, then tell the Jarl what has occurred and to place his guards at the gates of the city."  
  
He nodded, though giving the guard a questioning look. "You'll be alright till I return, Senusius?"  
  
"Yes, now hurry! For a murder has been committed this night." Leoninnius rushed past us and out into the night at his words. Senusius looked at us, crossing his arms. "I'm going to ask you all to turn in any weapons you may have in your possession, and place them on the table here." I left Narri's side and handed him my dagger, handle first. "This is all you possess, Khajiit?"  
  
"Yes. It is all you will find on me."  
  
The few others produced a few weapons, the most being Boloag. He had one knife in each boot, a small knife hanging on a cord around his neck, and a sword that hung from a belt around his waist. Senusius rolled his eyes when he produced two more knives from a pocket sewn on the inside of his vest. "Is that it?" Boloag nodded. "Now," he turned to the Innkeeper, "I must inspect your kitchen to see if there was anything placed in the food he ate." As he spoke he picked up a piece of half eaten bread that rested upon the late General's plate and sniffed it, then threw it back down. "It's odorless, doesn't smell like poison." He then tasted the mead inside his goblet, spitting it back into it's silver rim. "Nothing."  
  
"Here," the Innkeeper said, "the kitchen is this way." Everyone followed them into the kitchen, out of pure curiosity. He threw things over in the shelves and counters, trying to find anything that could have caused the General's death. Finally he turned to us slowly.   
  
"You didn't do this," he said to the Innkeeper, who sighed with relief. "You," he pointed at Narri, "you gave him his food." Her face paled as she realized what he was hinting at.  
  
"I didn't, I couldn't," she looked as if she were about to break out into hysterics as she backed away from him.  
  
"She would never kill anyone," Boloag defended her, standing in front of her as if to protect her from the guard's accusations.  
  
"You would be surprised how many people are capable of murder." He then looked at me through narrow eyes. "What about you, stranger? Anything you're hiding from us?"  
  
"How would I have murdered him? And if I did, why would I remain here and not escape?" I replied calmly as I crossed my arms against my chest.   
  
"I'll figure everything out," he said. "Right now everyone is a suspect." He then turned to Boloag and the former Jarl. "Come with me," he said, and we went into the next room. "You're a bard?"  
  
Boloag looked offended. "Course I'm a bard. What do you think I was doing earlier?"  
  
"Why did you have so many weapons?"  
  
He scoffed. "Skyrim is a dangerous place, as anyone knows."  
  
"Does any one here know magic?" Senusius looked around at each of our faces, shadows dancing upon them from the light of the fire and candles.   
  
"No," everyone chimed in unison.  
  
"If anyone of you is the murderer," he begun to walk in a slow circle, glaring at each of our faces, "you will know no peace. Justice will be fulfilled, no matter how much you try to escape it." We all glanced at one another, trying to be discreet yet failing. The same question arose in everyone's mind:  
  
_Who was the murderer?_  
  
"This is outrageous! I'm sure this is a set up so someone can blame me for something I didn't commit!" Dengier yelled. "For years they've been trying to stick something on me, and now they're going to say I murdered him!"  
  
"Remain calm." Senusius said as he stared hard at the man, who was walking in circles pulling at his thinning white hair.   
  
A few minutes later the Jarl's men burst in, the Jarl himself leading them. "What is the meaning of this?" Jarl Siddgeir demanded. "Waking me up in the middle of the night? Did you know how little sleep I get as it is?" His face had the look of an angry and spoiled child being denied his sweet roll.  
  
"My apologies, Jarl, but this is a serious matter,"  Senusius said dryly. "General Septimus has been murdered, and we don't know by whom."  
  
"Murdered? So it's true?" His black hair was a tangled mass hanging over his eyes, his posture frazzled and puzzled.  
  
"Yes. We would not call upon you in the middle of the night if it were not serious."  
  
"And these are the suspects?"  
  
"Witnesses. Though everyone remains under the cloud of suspicion till we find the murderer."  
  
"Alright. Guards, block the gates and search everywhere! I'll stay here and supervise."  
  
They searched the building while we remained in a huddled group next to the fire. So much for a night of rest. Jarl Siddgeir just fell asleep, slumped on one of the benches against a table. The woman who ran the apothecary came in, trying to discern how he died, but finding none to prove it was murder. Finally, in the morning when no thing of suspicion had been found, they declared his heart failed him. After all he was old, and no matter what one does, age catches up with your body. Jarl Siddgeir scolded the guards severely for disturbing his night for nothing, though they had a just cause to do so. Before dawn even crept upon the edges of the skyline, they prepared the General's burial with Runil, the priest. And so a General was laid to rest among the other warriors of Skyrim.   
  
"I must be on my way," I said to the Innkeeper when they declared we could leave. Though Senusius was still muttering about it being a murder and that he would find whoever committed such a heinous crime.   
  
"Sorry for what happened," she apologized, her features worn from last night's fiasco as she leaned her weight against the counter and crossed her arms.   
  
"It's alright. Death does not wait for our convenience."  
  
"Your leaving already?" Narri asked, her eyes full of disappointment as she came to stand next to me, her cheeks still stained by the paths of her tears. To me she looked like a lost puppy.  
  
"Yes, I must get on the road."   
  
"Sometime come back and tell me of you're adventures. Preferably soon. And bring a prince for me."  
  
I laughed, shaking my head as I walked out and into the stables. Once I harnessed Tsarsma, I climbed into the cart's seat. Clicking my tongue I flicked the reins, Tsarsma surging forward to pull the cart and plod out of the small village in the first light of dawn. The same guard from the night before met me at the gate, wishing me well on my journey. They never found out who the murderer was that fateful night.  
  
For the murderer was I.  
  
Bear with me a moment. I am an assassin for the Dark Brotherhood, and some Stormcloak performed the Dark Sacrament, offering a contract that was too good to resist. 15,000 gold septims to the assassin who kills General Septimus. I came to them for the job, for I have had many successful assassinations. Now, how did I do it? It was simple, really.  
  
When I went to the Innkeeper to ask for my room, I wore a small, silver ring on my left hand. Earlier I slid the top open, revealing a small, pointed needle that was hidden on the surface. I merely bumped into the General, inserting the needle into his arm with my left hand while he was distracted by my running into him. The needle is so small that you do not feel it when it pierces your skin. I then apologized for my blunder, and went into my room to sleep and wait. The poison is Tilthion, a slow working poison that takes several hours to fulfill it's task. It is odorless, and leaves no apparent symptoms on the body. They simply die. And to everyone's guess, it is because their heart failed them, or some other natural cause. So, when I heard the crash and scream, I knew my task was accomplished. I just had to make certain they would not suspect me, and acted as scared and shocked as the others. He is dead, and I made my profit without anyone suspecting me.   
  
And the village uprising in that small village not far from Falkreath? It was successful. No Imperials won that day without their dead Commander. One year after that day Ulfric Stormcloak took over the throne of Skyrim, and now reigns. I did not care for either side, but I suppose I played a small part in killing one of the Imperial's puppets.   
  
Do you wish to know my real name? Then perhaps I shall tell you. I am La'heh, the assassin over all others. And you should pray that I never visit your doors at night, for death follows in my wake and storm.

**Author's Note:**

> Not long ago I played Skyrim and journeyed through Falkreath, running into Dead Man's Drink. It was the perfect name for a murder. Hope this was okay, it's the first murder story I've written. And yes, I made up the name for the poison, as I didn't have time to research different poisons. I shall use something better for my next murder story.
> 
> Disclaimer: Skyrim is the property of Bethesda.


End file.
